


Raisins and Almonds

by Molly_Hats



Category: Batman (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Boarding School, Cassandra Cain is Batgirl, Comicverse Nyssa needs more love, Compulsive skin picking, Dermatillomania, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Fluff, Gen, Gotham Academy, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Its an AU screw DC I do what I want, Mother-Son Relationship, Nyssa adopts Tim AU, Stephanie Brown is Robin, Talia Al Ghul is a Good Mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-03-13 06:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly_Hats/pseuds/Molly_Hats
Summary: When his parents die, Tim Drake is taken in by his former nanny, Nyssa Raatko.  He soon discovers that being Nyssa’s son has some lethal complications.  For Nyssa's sister, Talia, motherhood means simultaneously exposing her son to and protecting him from the League of Assassins, particularly his grandfather.The story of two branches of a messed up family, trying to figure out how they're connected and how to protect them and theirs.





	1. Prologue

When his parents died, she was there. 

They never came into his room. He had to go find them when he couldn’t sleep, when he had nightmares, and often their solution was patting him on the head, hugging him, walking him back to his room, and locking the door, promising that nobody could get in, ignoring his cries that his fear was that something was already in there with him.

Nyssa, by contrast, sought him out. She sang him to sleep at night. She told him he reminded her of her sons. He asked if he’d get to meet them, and she said no, they’re far away. As far away as mom and dad? Nyssa huffed a little, and Tim didn’t understand why at the time, but she told him no. His parents were as far away as anyone could be.

When they died, she became his guardian. She held him in her arms, his wide blue eyes staring at her as he tried to understand. Mom and Dad just extended their trip, of course, like always.

She tried to explain that it was longer. It was permanent. When he finally understood, she cradled him and told him that she’d take care of him, it’d be okay.

And for three years, they were okay.


	2. Chapter 2

The rapping at the door interrupted their game of tag. Nyssa slowed from her already leisurely run and stood up, walking towards the front door. Tim ran after her, almost smacking into her legs as he struggled to deccelerate. He’d hit a growth spurt recently, and was still getting used to his new stride.

Nyssa smiled down at him and slowly opened the door, hand on her hip, then stiffened almost imperceptibly. Tim looked around her to see a besuited man in the doorway. He looked old, but not too old, his skin creased but not wrinkled and loose. His hair was black with streaks of white, with the most dramatic widow’s peak Tim had ever seen in real life. But the most distinctive feature was his eyebrows, thick and black and so prominent that Tim couldn’t look away from them. 

“Hello, Nyssa,” the man said cheerfully. He crouched to meet Tim’s eyes. “Hello, little one. What’s your name?”

Tim looked up at Nyssa for guidance. She subtly edged away from him the tiniest bit and crossed her arms, meeting the man’s eyes. 

“What do you want, Ra’s?” she asked coldly.

“I thought perhaps a family reunion was in order.”

“Right. Couldn’t bear to spend Yom HaShoah alone, could you?” she said, her voice quiet and deadly and bitter. “Had to find the kid who hates you.”

“I heard I had a grandson,” Ra’s said.

“You heard wrong. I don’t have children, and you’re not my father. You’ve made sure of that.” She snapped the endings of the words without hesitation, not letting them linger any longer than necessary, breaking every word off like a brittle twig from a dead tree.

“Nyssa--”

“Go see Talia if you’re so desperate. Or visit your dear detective.”

“Who is _he,_ then?” Ra’s abruptly changed the subject, eyes boring into Tim to make it clear to whom he was referring.

“I’m his au pair,” Nyssa said coolly.

“I see.” Ra’s nodded, then, without warning, lunged and grabbed Tim, pinning his arms behind his back and pressing a knife to the back of his neck. Tim cried out in surprise and felt a prick of pain as the knife barely broke the skin. He kicked out and struggled in Ra’s grip.

“So you haven’t taught him how to defend himself,” Ra’s mused. “Strange. Too afraid he’d discover the family business?”

“No. He isn’t my son, Ra’s, I’ve told you--”

“No, I think he is,” Ra’s said. “I have resources, Nyssa, do not treat your father like a fool. I know what happened to his parents. I know how long you’ve kept him. I know who was supposed to take him in before his strange disappearance. Based on that evidence, Nyssa, I think you do see him as a worthy son, even if you did not give birth to him.”

“Leave Nyssa alone!” Tim yelled, kicking at Ra’s knees. Ra’s raised his eyebrows to Nyssa as if to say _“seriously?”_

As suddenly as he’d pulled the knife, Ra’s plunged it into Tim’s throat, slicing expertly between the bones of his spine. Tim gagged and choked, gasping for breath, eyes wide in surprise and terror as he lost all feeling in his limbs.

Ra’s set him down and stood up, pulling the knife away to let him bleed freely. Nyssa ran forward to cradle Tim, to stop the bleeding, to realign his neck, but she knew it was too late the second Ra’s unnaturally sharp blade touched his skin.

“I’ll kill you,” Nyssa said, cold and angry and quiet, finally looking up after Tim breathed his last. 

“I merely called your bluff,” Ra’s said. “If you care for him as a son, it is well within your power to bring him back. Don’t bother saying it would be more painful for him.” He leaned down to brush a wayward strand of Nyssa’s hair behind her ear. His hand came to rest on her cheek. “We both know better. We’re evidence that it is worth the pain. And he’s a young boy, his whole life ahead of him.”

“Leave my house.” It would be a courtesy if he chose to comply. Ra’s came and went as he wished, leaving only when he felt his objective had been completed.

Ra’s nodded, turned, and closed the door, leaving Nyssa behind in a pool of blood, clutching the still bleeding corpse of Timothy Drake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa makes her choice

When he spluttered to life, the rage was all he knew. Burning, blinding, isolating. He’d never felt so out of control in his life. He lunged at Nyssa, seeing the blood on her face and that familiar calm expression that had helped him through so many nights of insomnia, but unable to overcome the tidal wave of anger that caught everything else and made it into reason to fight, turned calm into apathy, turned memories into betrayal, turned grief and shock and love into more and more fury, more fuel. It turned her look of careful calm and kindness into apathy and malice.

He grabbed for her throat, but she caught his arms with her own, clutching with a stronger grip than he could remember ever feeling. He kicked and bit and struggled, but she held on.

“Timothy,” she said. “It’s Nyssa, you don’t have to fight anymore. It’s over.”

He slumped slightly, the spell finally passing with a dizzying sensation. He crumpled to the marble floor on his hands and knees, finally surveying his surroundings. A strange green pool steamed and bubbled. He was covered in liquid from it, a trail leading up from the pit to Nyssa.

Nyssa hugged him, holding him close, arms shielding one of his eyes. “Shh, shh.” She began to sing, an old lullaby she didn’t sing much anymore. Her voice wasn’t particularly gorgeous or lilting--she had a rough voice, but it hit the notes, soft and soothing and laced with so much love and affection it sounded absolutely heavenly. “In dem Beis-Hamikdosh/In a vinkl cheyder...”

His teary eyes began to close, the water squeezing out and running onto Nyssa’s arms. He wasn’t asleep, but he was calm again. Calm and in control and ready to process the extremely strange day.

“Zitst di almone, bas-tsion, aleyn/Ihr ben yochidle yideln vigt zi keseider/Un zingt im tzum shlofn a ledeleh sheyn.”

“Nyssa?”

“Mm?”

“Can you teach me how to fight?”

She was silent for a moment, and they sat still there for a moment in the heat of the cave, watching the pool bubble and steam.

“Of course, boychik.” _I’d do anything for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is “Raisins and Almonds, (Rozhinkes mit Mandlen),” arranged by Abraham Goldfaden, from the opera “Shulamis.” This specific version is sung by Jane Seymour in the movie “War and Remembrance.”


	4. Chapter 4

They fell into a new routine, after that. She taught him to fight to win--not drag it out, not give up any advantage, not play “nice” or “fair.” She taught him weak points, ways to easily disable an opponent. She taught him that using a gun was nothing to be ashamed of, and then showed him how to shoot.

Afterward, sore and sweaty and tired, he’d take a shower and then curl up in a blanket by the fireplace while Nyssa made hot cocoa. She’d come into the room with a small smile on her face, set down the tray, and sit down herself. She’d take a sip from her own mug, or wait for Tim to pick his up. 

“You did well today,” she would always say in the chosen language of the night.

“Thank you, Nyssa.” He would reply.

Then they’d converse, Tim learning from Nyssa’s careful and slow but fluent dialogue, working hard to recognize the patterns and mimic them.

French. Yiddish. Russian. Arabic. English. Mandarin. Spanish. 

They moved on to reading later in much the same way, and writing naturally followed, Nyssa laughing gently at his mistakes and correcting him. He worked hard for Nyssa, but he hated the school-like repetition, the complications, the never ending list of vocabulary. 

:::

“Ra’s…” Tim looked up from the passage, the memory that had haunted his dreams suddenly roaring back to life. “The man at the door--your father--was called that.”

Nyssa looked away from him. “Yes.”

“He was real?” Tim had become convinced over time that he’d dreamed the experience, or at least dramatized it. He’d seen cousin Damian after surgery, and he was familiar with Talia’s techniques. Surely he’d merely been hurt badly and woken up after surgery with a fight in his heart and that weird green high tech healing enhancer soaking him. Surely he couldn’t remember perfectly. He was a little kid at the time.

“Was and is.”

“Do you call your father ‘head’ in Arabic culture?”

“No. His full name is Ra’s al Ghul,” she said, meeting his eyes. 

Tim squinted. “...his name is The Head of the Demon?”

“He had another once. Nobody knows or cares now.” The resentment crept into her voice, and he looked over at her, surprised. “One day, he’ll find you again. He always does.”

Tim shuddered.

“You’ll be ready for him. _We_ ’ll be ready for him.” She reached out an arm to rest on Tim’s blanketed shoulder, and he scooted closer to her, leaning his head on her chest. “I won’t let him take you from me, I promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and Talia visit.

When Tim was 13, Nyssa invited another member of her family over: the rarely mentioned Talia and her son, Damian.

Nyssa shuffled them off to the room where she and Tim usually cooled off after training while she and Talia chatted. Tim sat in front of the unlit fireplace, his untouched coffee cooling in his hands, studying his cousin. Damian scowled at Tim, the five year old’s impressively bushy eyebrows knitting together.

“Um...water? Hot cocoa? Is that okay for you to have?” Tim offered awkwardly. 

Damian stared at him.

“Okay…” Tim paused, then repeated (he hoped) the questions in Arabic. 

Damian’s stare shifted to a glare. 

“Right then.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Excuse me?” Tim blurted out, startled. 

“Don’t patronize me or I’ll break your face,” he said.

“...alright,” Tim said, blinking. 

Damian stood up and walked to the door. He fiddled with the lock and the heavy wooden door swung open.

“How did you…”

Damian didn’t answer, walking over to the door of the room where Nyssa and Talia were engaged in conversation.

They cycled through languages quickly, mid sentence sometimes. Tim wondered if it was to avoid eavesdroppers, or simply for fun, a mental exercise.

They mentioned their father, training, Damian, the pit, Tim, something about bodies. 

“Did you catch any of that?” Tim whispered to Damian.

The kid grabbed his shirt and threw him across the hallway.

Tim stood up and brushed himself off. “Alright then, if that’s how you wanna play it…”

 

“You forget that I am on better terms with our father,” Talia said.

“You approve of his actions, then?” Nyssa asked, her hand resting on her feet, legs curled casually underneath her. “You suspect what he plans for Damian, why he trains him in history as well as combat.” 

“I have time still before Ra’s moves against us.”

“Talia, we have the element of surprise,” Nyssa said. “We assassinate him—“

“No.”

“For our sons!” Nyssa urged.

“Nyssa, Damian and I are perfectly capable—“

A thump sounded from the hallway. 

Nyssa looked up from her tea at the noise. “Oh dear.”

Talia rolled her eyes and smiled. “I suppose we should break them up.”

THUMP! CRASHHH!

“Yes. I’d hate for Timothy to maim your son.”

Talia raised her eyebrows as she stood up. “I doubt that would happen.”

They laughed briefly together, then Nyssa straightened her face and threw open the door.

The squirming ball of fighting boys slowed to a half-stop—the Tim half. Damian kept clawing at Tim, who tried to remain as still and innocent as possible while avoiding sustaining permanent damage. 

“Damian,” Talia said sternly.

Reluctantly, Damian let go and stood up, ramrod straight and military style.

Tim scrambled to copy him.

“Tim,” Nyssa said sternly.

“He attacked me!” Tim protested.

“Timothy!” Nyssa hissed. “We have _guests_. You are eight years older than him, you should know better.”

“Yes, Nyssa,” Tim said, staring at his feet and trying to make them perfectly parallel with each other.

Nyssa crossed her arms and glanced over at her sister, who was either unamused or better at hiding it. 

“Never mind, Nyssa,” Talia said. “We were just leaving. Thank you for the tea.”

“Always a pleasure,” Nyssa said, taking Tim’s shoulder as Talia began to steer Damian out of the house. “Please come again!”

Once they were out of earshot, Tim rubbed his arm and complained, “I don’t like him.”

Nyssa chuckled. “Our family can take some getting used to. Pray Damian’s the worst you’ll run into.”


	6. Chapter 6

Talia cradled her son, her lips brushing over his tuft of black hair. 

“A ‘Nyssa’ is here to see you, Miss Talia,” her maidservant said.

Talia’s head rose. “Show her in.”

Nyssa walked into the room moments later, a small package in hand. “I brought tea,” she said. “My mother always made me it when I needed to recover, and I always made some after labor.”

“I didn’t give birth to him,” Talia said. 

Nyssa set down the package and sat down in a low chair. “What’s his name?”

“Damian,” Talia said, tenderness creeping into her voice despite herself. “His name is Damian.”

:::

Talia knew that this day would come. Nyssa had warned her, her own common sense had warned her. She’d prepared.

“Mother, what is it?” Damian asked.

She turned around, a sad smile on her lips. “It’s time for you to meet your father.”

Damian’s eyes lit up, and his mouth half-opened to ask something.

Talia knelt, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Hush, my love. His name is Bruce Wayne. He lives in the United States, in Gotham City. There is a plane that will take you there, under the name Gregory Kasem.”

Damian nodded, his big eyes looking into hers.

She felt her hands grow heavy on his shoulders, and stared into his face, memorizing it.

“Mother…?”

Talia shook her head and stood up. “Go, my son.”

“Aren’t you--”

“No. You must go alone.”

Damian hesitated.

“Go!” Talia commanded. “Your plane leaves soon, and my father may try to stop you.”

Damian ran off, his feet barely making a sound. She smiled with pride, and slid her sword out of its sheath. She shut the door behind him.

“Daughter,” Ra’s said, stepping around the corner a minute later. “Where is my grandson?”

“He’s gone,” Talia said, raising her sword. “Where you won’t follow him.”

Ra’s brown eyes flared, the smallest bit of color catching the light. “There’s no need for that, my child. Why this sudden, pointless defiance?”

Talia didn’t lower the weapon. “You crossed the line when you threatened my son, father.”

Ra’s stepped forward. “Talia, I am losing patience, move--” 

“I tolerated your abuse, because it made me stronger,” Talia said, stepping to block his path again. “I raised my son in the League of Assassins, as you always wanted, to be your heir, to accomplish all you dreamed of. But now you come to take him. Do you think me incompetent? Unworthy even of _raising_ your heir?”

Ra’s scowled and held out a hand to Ubu, who helpfully produced a sword. Ra’s raised it as he spoke. “Your pride blinds you, Talia.”

Talia swung, Ra’s blocking the blow. “No,” she said. “Yours does. Your fears are obvious. You fear death, even as you claim to seek an heir. You seek the pits even more. Damian will never grow to find his place here, under your rule.” 

“Is this a coup, Talia?” Ra’s asked, the smallest of smirks on his lips.

“I’m simply protecting what is mine, father,” Talia said. “If you choose to get in my way, so be it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a lot less confident writing Talia, mostly because she's had a lot more comic history than her sister. I hope I did her justice (heaven knows she needs to be well written). Thanks to everyone who left kudos, commented, etc.!


	7. Chapter 7

Tim ran at the wall, kicking his foot out to rest on it for the briefest of moments. Launching off the wall, he pulled his feet in, tucking and rolling in the air to land on his feet. He grinned, threw his arms up, and looked over at Nyssa. “I got it! I got it!”

“Yes, you did, boychik.” Nyssa smiled at him and ruffled his hair, her fingernails brushing his scalp. He shifted nervously under her touch. “Tim, what is it?” she asked, even as she felt scabs on his scalp. “Come here,” she ordered, her tone shifting in an instant.

Tim backed away. “Nyssa, it’s fine, I’m--”

Nyssa caught up to him in one step and took his head in a firm grip. He reluctantly let her. She separated the hair to find a large patch of bare skin, dotted with scabs and sores. “You did this?” she said, not really a question. 

He squirmed away, ducking his head from under her arm and waving her off with his hand. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It feels nice, I guess it’s a habit.”

Nyssa glanced down at her own arm, the scars from years of scratches. She said nothing.

“I’m sorry--”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Nyssa interrupted him. She held up her arm to silence him, realizing too late that it was her right. That detail didn’t escape him either, as his eyes rested on the scarred and scabbed flesh of her forearm.

Nyssa lowered it and sat down with her knees in front of her, patting the mat to her left. Tim reluctantly sat down cross-legged beside her.

“It’s a bad habit, Tim. To be overcome. No more and no less.”

“But if you haven’t beaten it, what am _I_ supposed to do?” Tim whined.

Nyssa placed a hand under his chin and gently guided him to look at her. “Tim, I’m not like Talia or Ra’s. You are a boy--a smart, kind boy, but a child still. I don’t demand you be an assassin, and I don’t expect you to dedicate your life to a crusade.” She brushed his long hair out of his eyes, where it almost reached far enough to tuck behind his ear. “But I know that you can be better than me, and I believe that you will.”

Tim frowned and stared at where his ankles crossed. 

“Mistress!” Misha entered the room, then paused as he took in the scene.

Nyssa let go of Tim’s chin and glared at Misha. “What is it?” she asked in Russian.

“The boy, Damian, he is in Gotham City. Bruce Wayne has announced him as his son.”

Nyssa stiffened. “You’re not off the hook, boychik,” she warned Tim, switching to English as she stood up. “We will talk. Training is over for today.”

“Yes, Nyssa,” Tim said sulkily, slowly pulling himself to his feet and to the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the implied/referenced self-harm is, if y'all are keeping track of the tags. I try to keep the tags on ongoing fics only for what's already happened.
> 
> If you want a fic specifically about Tim Drake + excoriation disorder/dermatillomania, check out "Under the Skin" by Batboyblues


	8. Chapter 8

Nyssa seized the man by the chin and pulled off his mask, raising her knife. “Who do you work for? Were you sent by the demon’s Head?” 

The assassin stayed silent.

“Tim, leave the room, please,” she ordered.

Tim hesitated, meeting the assassin’s wide, terrified eyes. He looked barely older than a high schooler. 

“Timothy, go now!” She commanded, losing patience as she brought the knife closer to the assassin’s eye. “Get Misha. And treat that cut.”

Tim stalled a second more before backing away and running for the door, trying not to think about the assassin’s wide brown eyes and failing. He held his arm where it had been sliced by the sword, trying to avoid dripping on the carpet as he hurried to find Nyssa’s right hand man and one of the several first aid kits scattered through the house.

 

“Was he from Ra’s al Ghul?” Tim asked as Nyssa set a cup of tea in front of him and took a sip from her own cup. 

“Yes,” Nyssa said bluntly. 

They sat in silence, the fire cracking beside them. Finally, Nyssa spoke again. “I’ve decided it would be best if you went to boarding school this fall, in Gotham.”

Tim blinked, his cup tilting dangerously. “What? Why?”

“Ra’s is growing desperate. If he dared to cross Talia, then he won’t hesitate to send more than a handful of assassins to get to you and me.” Nyssa leaned forward, her hand resting on the carpet in front of him. “It was selfish of me to keep you, Tim. I don’t want you to have to deal with this life.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Tim said, brow furrowing. His voice rose. “You’re better than anybody else, you’ve taught” voice crack “me so much.”

“Respect, Timothy,” Nyssa chided, and Tim slumped. 

“I’m sorry, Nyssa.”

“Apology accepted. When I adopted you, when I took you, I dragged you into this mess of a family, and I should have known Ra’s wouldn’t leave us--leave you--alone.”

“But… But I don’t want to leave you,” Tim said, his voice suddenly quiet and vulnerable. 

“I’ll visit you,” Nyssa said, scooting over next to him and placing a hand on his back in comfort. “I promise. But promise me one thing, Timothy.”

She leaned around to look him in the eyes, and he turned to look at her. She smiled sadly and caught his first tear on her finger. She absently stroked the wet finger down her own face as she said, “promise me, if I vanish, or if you hear I’m dead, or that Ra’s has done something to me, don’t come after me. Don’t try to find me or avenge me or bring me back.”

“But--”

“Promise me,” she said, voice suddenly firm. “Timothy, I love you like a son. But you are not my son, and you cannot let Ra’s believe that you are. Keep your head down. Find a life far away from me and my father. Be a hero, or a normal man, or whatever you want.”

She kissed his forehead, drawing him close for a hug as Timothy started to cry, his tears dropping onto her shirt. “We have a few weeks still, Tim, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

*** **End of Part I** ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Part I!
> 
> What to expect in Part II (which is also in this same fic link, so no real worries, this is just because I like splitting things): Tim and Damian go to Gotham Academy and meet some familiar (to the audience, not them) faces. Nyssa and Talia scheme to keep them safe from the shadows, as Ra's attempts to recruit them by any means necessary. Tim is away from home for maybe-forever, and finds himself in the wretched hive of scum and villainy known as "Gotham City," home of the bat and his family.


	9. Time Skip

Four months into Tim’s first (and hopefully last) semester at Gotham Academy, the school cleared out for winter break. Only a handful of poor saps without real homes to return to chose to stay, and Damian fortunately was not one of them. Tim didn’t need to avoid him at all. Still, Tim mostly kept his own company, wandering around the snowy campus, taking pictures of the architecture and the handful of staffers who remained over the break.

He was walking one afternoon a few days before Christmas when someone yelled, “look out!” 

He spun—just in time for a snowball to smack into his face. His eyes squeezed shut, he scrubbed at his face with his hands as the voice from before came nearer. 

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! I wasn’t aiming at you, I promise.” A gloved hand swiped at his face, and Tim instinctively grabbed it and twisted it down away from him. “Ow! Hey!”

Tim let go, blinking the last of the snow from his eyes. “Sorry. Startled me.”

The girl stood up. “What are you, Batman?”

“Something like that,” Tim couldn’t resist saying. The girl was pretty, a purple hat stuffed on top of her bushy blonde hair. Snowflakes caught in her curls, and Tim resisted the urge to try to take a picture. “Sorry. I’m Tim.”

“Stephanie. Stephanie Brown.” She nodded toward a well-disguised snow fort across the path. Without her guidance, he would have overlooked it as a snowdrift. “Over there’s Cass—the actual target.” 

As he watched, a short, feminine-looking figure rose from it like a meerkat. She(?) wore a ski mask and a black coat.

Steph waved at her. “I surrender! The civilian toll is too high!” She motioned with her arm. “Come on inside.” Turning to Tim, she asked, “Want to join us? We warm up by the fire and play charades. We could use another person—Cass is a great actor but an awful guesser.”

Tim grinned. “Sounds great, Steph.”

 

Several hours and various games later, Tim left the student lounge’s main room to grab more hot cocoa for all of them. A girl was already in the kitchen. She had dark skin, and as Tim drew closer she turned to him. “You need the hot water?” she asked. A purple headband-wrap thing the same color as her sweater kept her large afro of hair out of her face. 

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Tim said. “More people here than I thought.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I just wanted to delay the family chaos as long as I could.”

“Oh. Can’t relate,” Tim replied.

The girl winced. “Sorry. That was insensitive of me. I’m Tam Fox.”

“Like Lucius Fox? Of Wayne Enterprises?”

Tam smiled tightly and nodded. “And there lies the family chaos. Middle child syndrome in a family of overachievers. Luke and Tiffany are both geniuses, theoretically, although I did see Luke try to hit on Kate Kane all throughout a charity ball once.” At Tim’s blank expression, she supplied, “She’s gay. Like, super gay. Got-kicked-out-of-the-army-for-being gay. Was-wearing-a-tux-at-said-ball gay.”

“Hope springs eternal, I guess.”

“What’s your name?” Tam asked.

“Tim.” 

“Got a last name?” Tam asked jokingly.

“Of course. Jackson,” He said after what seemed to him like a painfully long pause. Tam didn’t seem to notice, though.

“Hey. You wanna come to Christmas at my house?” Tam asked.

“I don’t want to butt in on your family--”

Tam waved a hand. “Meh. Everyone usually brings some sort of plus-one.”

“So we’d be, like, dating?”

“I mean, Mom’s been getting after me about it, but we can totally go as friends.” 

“I’d like that,” Tim said. “As friends.”

“Great.” Tam pulled out a phone. “Gimme your number and I’ll text you the details.”

“I...uh…” Tim said. “I don’t have a phone.”

Tam stared at him for a few moments. “Email?”

“I can get one?” He said, uncertain. 

“Great,” Tam said. She grabbed an empty powdered cocoa pouch from where she’d carelessly set it down, pulled out a pen, and scrawled a string of letters on it. Clicking the pen closed with a satisfying noise, she slid the wrapper across the counter to him. 

He picked it up and read it.

“It’s my email address. When you get your own, send me an email so I know where to send the info.” 

Tim nodded and slipped the wrapper into his pocket. “Thanks, Tam.”

“Nah, thank you. Luke’ll probably bring Babs, and so the dinner conversation’ll be even more difficult to decipher. With you there, it might balance out to normal. ”

Tim grinned. “Happy to be of service. Excuse me, though, I’ve got friends waiting on this hot cocoa--”

Tam sidestepped. “Right, sorry, enjoy! See you later, Tim!”

Tim smiled as he filled the cups and stirred in the hot cocoa. After months of avoiding Damian (and, consequently, everyone else), he was finally starting to fit in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes! Almost 1,000 hits?? This is by far my most viewed fic. I honestly did not expect this many people to even find this—I’m curious how. Were you looking for “Macushla,” clicked the wrong thing, and got sucked in? Or do this many people agree that Nyssa Raatko deserves infinitely more and better stories than DC comics gave her and sought that fix here?
> 
> At any rate, thank you so much for all of your kind words, kudos, bookmarks, etc. It’s so nice to know that there’s an audience and that you're enjoying this. You have no idea how encouraging and inspiring you are. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of Batboys & Bluebirds, but it spun out of control. I like it though, so it’s its own verse.


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